My head was hanging backwards, eyes watering, hair dangling toward the floor, as I drew in deep breaths. Then, again, I succumbed to Matteo’s rigid cock parting my lips just before I was quite ready, feeling the head lodge in my throat as my lips and chin were brushed with the trimmed hairs framing his glistening, dripping shaft.
This was a first for me. I had never done such a thing. Not taking a man’s penis all the way, “balls deep” as they say, as the glans nestled into my throat. Certainly not upside down with his sac dancing on my nose. Nor as a foreigner three conversations removed from being a complete stranger. Never stretched out naked on a kitchenette countertop, with laundry flapping in the breeze outside the open glass terrace doors that let in the sounds of traffic and café buzz.
☼ ☼ ☼
Jeffrey and I had planned this trip to Naples and the Amalfi Coast back in the Fall. Back when there was a Jeffrey and I. That relationship dissolved with the last snow of the Spring, but damned if I was going to stay at home and lose the deposit money and the time I’d spent researching travel blogs. Jeffrey isn’t a total ass — things just weren’t working out, our breakup accelerated by his acceptance of a business opportunity that would take him two states away.
Two bottles of wine during a consolation conversation with my Bestie had me and Denise giggling about her taking his place on the already-planned Italian getaway. The next morning, after hangovers were softened by strong coffee, she and I realized we were serious. Jeffrey amicably agreed to eat some the cost: Denise paid for her flight but my now-ex agreed to buy train tickets and a few incidentals. What was once going to be a couple’s bonding vacation was transformed into a girls’ reset trip. And I think it turned out better that way.
So here we were, my Bestie and I spending some daytime hours topless in the warm Sorrentine sun — another experience new to me — and evening hours amidst the local nightlife. Something worked, our carefree attitudes or our short dresses, as she got up to sort-of cheating on her sort-of-boyfriend with a burly blond fellow vacationer with a strong, presumably authentic, Australian accent. And I had gotten swept up by the rugged charm of the local man who runs the bistro around the corner from our hotel. We’d had our two-hour lunches there the past three afternoons, Matteo practicing his English and me practicing my body language, while Denise practiced her patience.
Not stupid, Denise and I weren’t completely reckless, having bought European data and talk/text plans with the resolve to check in on each other if and when we separated. And separate we did, Matteo offering to show me his two other eatery locations on the isle of Capri, a short ferry ride away, during which his inquisitive hands ventured inside my loose buttoned top and his fluttering fingers crept up inside the hem of my khaki short shorts.
While the restaurant closed between lunch and dinner shifts, we’d been sharing drinks and kisses and caresses in the cozy flat three floors up, as we squeezed onto the tiny but picturesque terrace and enjoyed views of the sails rising from the azure Tyrrhenian Sea. First topless, then fully nude, because Capri.
☼ ☼ ☼
A floured handprint adorned my jiggling tit as I lay splayed on Matteo’s work surface, my tongue slathering the length of his erection. I’d interrupted him while his skilled hands were forming the loaves of what was to soon be crusty Filone to accompany antipasti and rich espresso. He said he invited me up for an afternoon snack before a walking tour of Capri, but I knew he invited me up because he wanted me as his snack. And I accepted, because I wanted to be.
I really needed some dick. I wasn’t brave enough to pack a dildo for my trip, certainly not a vibrator with electric components to be scanned and displayed by airport security, and sharing a double room with Denise didn’t afford enough alone time to masturbate properly. I did manage get myself off twice in ten days in the bathroom as the shower water ran to cover my gasps, the best I could do because the fucking shower wand didn’t even have a “pulse” setting. Clitoral orgasms take the edge off, sure, but a girl needs a good filling, right?
Kisses and gropes had momentarily delayed Matteo’s culinary work, but then, there was nothing to do while the formed loaves proofed for the next half hour — nothing but my climbing up onto the kitchen counter to offer myself for him to devour.
Matteo didn’t claim or dominate me, but he led, encouraging without pushing me to expand my sexual experience. Floury hands and knees, and drizzles of local Italian wine on my skin, were the next forays into new erotic territory. Bending down from the countertop to tease his penis from piqued to prodigious and bathe it with my saliva had become uncomfortable, so I flipped onto my back and can now move Deepthroat from my sexual bucket list to my array of notable skills. Maybe Jeffrey and I weren’t together long enough, or weren’t adventurous enough, to get to this.
Matteo didn’t fuck my mouth, but his gentle hip motions assisted me in guiding my sealed lips, tongue, and throat around his spit-slickened cock at what felt like my own pace. He kneaded my breasts like he had handled that dough earlier — gentle pulls and releases, pushes and gathers.
As I worked his slimy erection with my fingers, he bent over to work my nipples with his mouth — mature tastes and swirls rather than brutish sucks, as he would savor a grape or olive without wanting to bite it.
I was a bit disappointed when he pulled my plaything away, walking around to the other end of the counter, But my delight returned with a sharp squeal as he yanked my legs, scooting my ass to the edge. A drizzle of wine ran down the side of his tilted glass while he laughed, flowing down the stem and off the base onto my chest. Good thing it was a slightly-cool Chianti rather than a chilled Pinot Grigio, or I would have had a hard time not inadvertently kicking him in the jaw. The flow continued into my bush and onto my thigh before he clamped his mouth right over the rivulet running down my slit.
I moaned as he moaned, feeling the aggressive yet respectful swirling and slurping of his tongue and lips. Wider and wider my thighs parted, little by little, as the fingers of one hand spread my labia for deeper exploration. By the way his shoulder refused to stay still, I’m sure he was jacking off with that other hand.
Matteo took a short break to run his tongue up my body and savor and tug at my nipples with his lips and tongue before taking the next-to-last sip of wine. My glass was out of reach, so I drained the rest of his as he returned to my pussy, working in two fingers while getting my sensitive, hardening clitoris all tingly.
Matteo’s short trip across the small flat to a rustic wood cabinet would have been too nonchalant if it wasn’t so confident. Admiring his bouncing boner as he returned, I barely noticed him ripping open the condom package. Yeah, he had to have been stroking himself to keep himself that hard, I thought with a grin, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the counter. His stroking was now employed to roll the condom over his shaft and snug it down to the root.
My “ooo”ing, splaying, reaching out for his cock, and crushing my open mouth against his all demonstrated unmistakable consent. The floppy tip of the condom nestled into my folds and promptly disappeared inside, followed by his entire stiff shaft, all the way to the base in one push.
Legs opening and closing against him, hips pumping, ass sliding, hands clenching his waist, I reveled in the feeling of my confident Italian lover filling me with thrust after thrust. Legs wrapped around him, arms encircling his shoulders, face buried in his neck, I panted with pleasure, giggling at the thought that just came to me.
“What is it, my dear?” His face withdrew, looking into my eyes while his motions eased, pumping slowly but still plenty deep. “Why do you laugh?”
“When you offered a tour of the island,” I replied, reclining so that he could view my naked body, “I didn’t expect, well, this.” Leaning all the way back, arms over my head, I gazed up at the cookware and utensils hanging from the ceiling. “Such an intimate tour,” I panted, tits wobbling with his steady insertions. “Of your kitchen island!”
“Italians are passionate about…” he thought for a moment, leaning over me and driving into me sharply. “About having guests in our kitchens.” I raised up, our mouths coming together roughly as I used the leverage of being propped up on my hands again to thrust my hips into him. “Even on our kitchen islands.”
I wrapped myself tightly around Matteo’s undulating body, fucking him just less than frantically, jamming my clit into the root of his cock as he continued to pound me on the counter of the island in his little kitchenette. It must have been getting him close to his climax, because he backed out of me a few moments after stopping his thrusts. His shiny condom-wrapped erection, slicked with my vaginal lubrication, popped out, angling up as if pointing to my face, leaving my pussy slightly gaped and dripping.
Pulling me down and turning me away from him, he guided, rather than pushed, me forward till I leaned over tits-down on the countertop. I smiled, huffed, even giggled, I think, as I felt his cock penetrate me again, this time from behind. Caressing my shoulders and dragging his tongue across my neck, he pumped me full, steadily, with more care but no less passion. I hugged that floury little kitchen island while he and I shared another minute or two of erotic sexual pleasure.
Maybe for a change of scenery, maybe for comfort, Matteo walked me over to a small seat next to the condom cabinet. After making out aggressively with plenty of groping at each other’s genitals, asses, and chests, he ploughed me bent over that upholstered piece of furniture. It wasn’t a couch, not even a love seat, wide enough for two slender butts, or, in our case, both of my knees and one of his. My head flew up and back with a tug of my hair, tits swaying, as I felt my insides fill with his stabbing insertions. Matteo was good enough, experienced enough, or just damn horny enough, to capture a breast and tweak the nipple. His stubbly cheek on my neck, his hot breath in my ear, he growled something in Italian that was no doubt sexy as fuck as he ruffled his fingers through my pubic hair. Recently trimmed in anticipation of fitting within the triangle of the most daring bikini I’ve owned since college, it still had enough fluff to give his fingers a little work to do to uncover my labia in search of my clitoris. And, oh fuck, did he find it!
My damp hair was swept up and forward over my face. Blowing on it did no good, and I was afraid to lift a hand to brush it away for fear of Matteo’s weight driving me into the seat. So I just took it, panting, eloquent words like “uh” and “fuck” and “oh” and “yes” exhaled repeatedly in no particular order.
I became aware of Matteo’s fingers probing my pussy as he licked my neck and shoulder, his warm, wet erection nestled against my hip. As I was wondering if he’d finished yet, he stood me up and sat in the seat, running his hands up and down my bare skin as I gave a complete turn. The cool breeze from the open window contrasted with the warmth of his hands kneading my ass and his hungry mouth devouring my breast, much more than just the nipple. Nope, he hadn’t finished.
“I want to see you, to look in your face,” he told me, eyes ablaze with lust as he pulled me close. I straddled his lap, one knee at a time sinking into the rough fabric, gripping the back of the seat while I pressed my forehead to his.
“While I … cum?” I ask with a whisper.
“If it happens like this, yes.”
It happened like that. Sinking back down onto his cock, I fucked him surely more vigorously than he’d been fucking me. The harder I pumped my hips, the harder his fingers and mouth grasped my tits. I guess I was the one to lose control — another first for me, as the guy was always the one to rush to climax before. The eroticism of this setting, in a veritable stranger’s flat above his place of business, the naughtiness of a vacation hookup, the sensual allure of Capri and Amalfi in general, all combined with the physical sensation of roughly-intimate sexual pleasure to push me to the breaking point.
Those patrons at the café downstairs just may have heard my orgasmic cries. I squealed and whimpered longer and louder that I could ever remember. My clenching, sputtering, pumping, bouncing, and shuddering took a minute or more to subside, I’m sure.
When I finally climbed off Matteo’s lap, his dick was still inflated, but not fully hard, leaning over onto his thigh rather than standing tall. A very prominent gob of thick cum filled the tip of the condom, liquidy semen squished all around his now-loosely-wrapped floppy penis.
After cleaning up in the tiny toilet room off the living area, while the bread baked and cooled, Matteo and I lounged nude on the surprisingly comfortable little seat, chatting in his broken English and my Zero Italian about traveling and education. We sat on the stools at his kitchen island, sharing nibbles of prosciutto and fresh mozzarella with sliced tomatoes and basil. It was fun and sexy and re-arousing to watch him, evidently very comfortable in his nudity, move around, his penis mostly dangling and wiggling, but perking up into a plump waving semi-erection three or four times.
And talk about arousing — fuck me, you haven’t lived until you’ve eaten freshly-baked, still warm Italian Filone bread dragged through olive oil and herbs while naked in the afternoon sea breeze. Even though I’d worked up an appetite with some hot energetic sex, I refrained from scarfing down a whole loaf.
Matteo and I walked around the island till after dark, taking in the sunset along the rocky coast. Even though we both knew we’d likely never see each other after tonight, and this was a one-afternoon stand, it was refreshing to have this time with someone new and exciting who was interested in more of a romantic experience than just a quick fuck. Denise and I had one more day on our vacation, and would be spending it on the Amalfi Coast on the mainland, so we would be away from town and Matteo. But for now, holding his hand, cuddling to him occasionally, giving and accepting borderline-inappropriate squeezes, and reflecting on his culinary and sexual skills marked this day as one with no regrets.
I messaged Denise to let her know I’d be back to our hotel on the mainland late, possibly after midnight. Her reply was an emoji array of smileys and heart eyes and eggplants. After dinner in his restaurant — braised lamb with grilled veggies and a side of angel hair pesto — Matteo and I returned to his small flat for a nightcap.
By nightcap, I mean more sex. The kind of sex that made me look back on the evening walk and delicious dinner as hours-long foreplay. Naked within a minute, Matteo laughed as I dug through his cabinet drawers to find the condom stash. Curiously, this upstairs flat had no bedroom, just being an open space with the kitchenette, the small toilet room, and the glass doors to the tiny terrace. Perhaps a bedroom was through another door off the stairway, but it wasn’t worth asking. Standing or sitting sex would have to do again. We managed.
It was my pleasure to sheathe his readied cock and stand there, caressing it, my face tilted up to capture his lips with mine, balancing while rubbing my foot up and down his calf. He got the hint and grabbed handfuls of my ass, his strong arms lifting me before crushing me into the framed pictures tacked to the wall. Up and down I went, my breasts sliding on his pecs, till I felt the head of his cock nestle inside me after a few wild stabs. My clitoris easily ground against the root of his cock, bottoming out time and time again as he fucked me into the wall. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t supposed to be.
As Matteo bounced me heavily, impaled deeply on his cock, a picture clattered to the floor. He ignored it, grunting and popping onto his toes as I slid up and down the now-empty space, holding on tightly — yeah, my pussy must be that good, I giggled to myself.
My strong Italian lover couldn’t hold out for too much longer, though, and started to wobble, lifting me off, spinning me tits-first into the door as soon as my feet touched down. He wound a handful of my hair around his fist while he re-entered me from behind. As any lover should, as he had done that afternoon, he slipped his other hand around and down to diddle my clit as he filled my vagina with pump after pump of solid meat.
When he pulled out and gave my ass a playful slap on each cheek, I walked over to the terrace doors and pulled them open, exposing my nude body to the surrounding buildings and sea again. Not looking back, I leaned forward with my hands on the railing, the cool night wind blowing my hair across my face with each gust.
Matteo took almost too long to approach, his warm hands finally slipping around to cup my breasts. As his hot breath filled my ear, his hot erection filled the valley between my ass cheeks. After pumping through the groove a few times, he angled his erection down and poked it through my thigh gap, eventually nudging open my labia with the tip and driving inside. The absence of his grip made me peek back after a minute – the sight of his arms out, braced into the door frame, made me laugh and pump my ass back harder to playfully try to dislodge him. Our terrace fuck was more sensual, more grinding, almost like a dance as our hips swayed and circled together. His hands were gentler when they returned to caress my skin, more artistic, swiping my hair aside to moisten my neck with his mouth, and his fingers gathering my nipples as they would take a pinch of herbs to add to a simmering sauce.
I insisted that Matteo sit on his kitchenette island while I refined my newly-acquired oral sex skills, tucking the head and an inch of shaft into my throat after stroking off the slippery condom. Tonguing the slit, strongly slurping the head and shaft, my fingers gently gathered his balls until they started to pulse and tighten. My bare breasts and hand massaged his slimy cock as it spurted onto his chest and stomach and oozed over my fingers. After a laugh, I chased away my throat irritation and faint taste of pre-cum by throwing back my shot of Limoncello. He drank his in several sips from my navel between tastes of pussy.
Lights off, he walked me out onto the terrace before going down on me, steadied somewhat by my hands clenching his thick, dark, wind-tossed hair. Before long, he was standing, masturbating me to a satisfying orgasm, offering me open-mouthed kisses that smelled and tasted like lemon and pussy. My climax was quieter than that afternoon’s had been, partly because of my discretion and partly because it was muffled by the gusting sea wind.
○ ○ ○
Matteo accompanied me on the last ferry of the night back to Sorrento, and walked me the short distance to my hotel.
“Buona notte,” my lover said with a lingering kiss. “Good night, my dear.”
“Good night, Matteo. Today was …” I laughed and shook my head, recounting our satisfying tryst. “Thank you for, yeah, a wonderful time.”
“And grazie, thank you, Miss Kay. You are a very sexy lover. It was very much pleasure to be with you.”
“And much pleasure was mine, Signore Matteo,” I replied. “Grazie.”
“Molto bella, molto deliziosa.” Our parting kisses were probably lewd as viewed by the couple sweeping past us into the hotel, but they were perfect to bring closure to our day-long tryst.
Denise was in our room when I got upstairs, poking at her tablet at the little desk in the corner of the room.
“Thanks for waiting up, Bestie,” I greeted her with a giggle.
“Couldn’t sleep. I guess because of my nap after that heeeaaaavenly massage.”
I giggled, realizing her two hundred Euro pampering was at Jeffrey’s expense. Also, realizing that probably while Denise had a masseuse’s hands on her skin, Matteo had his hands on mine, though much less professionally. “You weren’t worried about me, were you?”
“No. Exited for you, though.”
“Excited?”
“Oh, come on. Somebody just got fuuuuucked!” Denise loves drawing her vowels out for emphasis.
I faked shock, eyes wide, fingertips covering my open mouth. “Whatever would make you say such a thing?”
Yep, girls just know.
☼ ☼ ☼
Denise and I did tease each other a bit as we got ready for bed and in the morning before and after breakfast. I got the sense that sex with her Australian hookup the day before was just fine and she had no regrets, but no details meant no comparisons. We both knew that some casual sex put the finishing touches on what was an invigorating and satisfying vacation.
Lying next to each other in our bikinis on a warm flat rock at the coast later that afternoon, we felt the waves douse our feet and spray our bodies occasionally.
“You did use a condom, didn’t you?” Her mind was on sex. Not surprising. So was mine.
“Yes, Denise,” I replied. “Two.” I let that slip before I could think.
“Oh, two you say?” She snapped her head toward me and popped her sunglasses up on top of he head. “And here I thought I knew you.”
“No details, but… yeah.” Our breasts bounced as we giggled.
“What the fuck are we still doing with these on?” She untied her bikini top and dumped it behind her head.
“I know, right?” My top came off with a flourish and joined hers. We relaxed, arms overhead, tits bared to the clear blue sky, because Amalfi.
The smooth, hard surface brought back memories of the previous day, my naked body draped over Matteo’s kitchenette island out on the island of Capri. My nipples hardened as I replayed each kiss, each lick, each taste, each caress, each grab, each gasp. And yes, each suck, each gag, each thrust, each shudder, each spurt. Smiling, I closed my eyes, memories of fantasies fulfilled pulling me into a short nap under the warm Italian sun.
